


My Sweet

by smuttyandabsurd



Series: Perv Series [10]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blackmail, Hand Jobs, M/M, Molestation, Non-Consensual, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyandabsurd/pseuds/smuttyandabsurd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred is forced to ride the London Underground with a vibrator controlled remotely by his stalker.</p><p>Russia/America. Creepystalker!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> A short derivative of Zeemo’s [creepystalker!AU](http://zeemoshetalias.tumblr.com/post/33260024180/trigger-warning-stalking-i-guess-at-least-i-am) that I promised to write for a long, long time now but never did ahaha!
> 
> Based a little on Tsukamoto Shinya’s [Snake of June](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D1rKF0PPjyh0&t=OGNiNWZhMzc4MjJhN2RiNjFiN2U3OTE2Y2Q2ZjJiYTc2ZDZjMWU0MCxJSjFKMUFtaw%3D%3D), an intense psycho-erotic thriller I recommend you watch if you have the stomach for stalking, voyeurism, and noncon/dubcon. It’s good.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is forced to ride the London Underground with a vibrator controlled remotely by his stalker.

Alfred shifted from one foot to another, unable to find a comfortable position in which to stand as he waited impatiently for the Tube on a platform in the London Underground. In one ear he wore an innocuous-looking earpiece, designed to look like the bud of an earphone for a music player, but there was no music. Instead, all he could hear was ringing silence, but he strained hard to listen to it just in case the voice wanted to give him further instructions.

“Catch the next train and ride it until I tell you to get off. I will be on it as well. I am always watching, so remember; no funny business.”

The voice clipped off with a crackle. Alfred nodded to indicate he understood. Verbal communications were one way only, his stalker and tormentor orchestrating his every move as a disembodied voice in his ear, but if he was being told the truth that man was somewhere in the vicinity and could see him nod. He shifted from his right foot to his left and back again, wincing every time he felt the hard foreign object, which he had lubricated and inserted into himself in the station’s public toilet, shift around in his ass.

The train arrived, and he waited for a carriage to empty out before stepping into it. It was the middle of the day at an off-peak hour, so he had the carriage all himself at the very back of the train. He kept standing in spite of the many available seats, not quite trusting himself to sit down without a whole lot of discomfort. He clung tight to a hand strap as the train lurched forwards with a low electrical hum.

“Don’t try to look for me,” the voice said sharply into his ear.

Alfred stopped craning his neck to look into the other carriages and obediently lowered his eyes to his shoes. He was terrified of retribution.

The train went past a couple of stops before a boozy middle-aged man, smelling of stale sweat and cigarettes, clambered into his carriage. He tried to avoid meeting the man’s gaze, but the voice had other plans for him.

“Talk to him.”

Alfred was scared to do so, but he was even more afraid of disobeying the voice.

“Uh, nice weather we’re having,” he began lamely.

The man ignored him in favour of a tatty discarded Metro he had picked up from a seat. He licked a grubby finger and quickly flipped through the pages to get to the comics’ section.

“Sit next to him,” the voice instructed.

Alfred felt sick. But he did as he was told on stiff trembling legs, lowering himself into a seat beside the man. He tried again.

“Hey, so what’s in the news?”

The man turned to sweep him with a look of undisguised contempt.

“Fuck off, you faggot.”

Alfred felt as if he had been slapped. The train squealed to another halt and, thankfully, the man got up and left, spitting as he disembarked.

The voice was giggling in his ear. “Better luck next time, sweetness.”

 _Fuck you!_ Alfred thought furiously, his cheeks flaming with shame. He sat in a contorted fashion to keep from putting too much weight on that wretched thing pressing against his prostate.

“Oh, here’s another one. Try not to fail me this time.” The earpiece crackled and went dead.

Alfred felt his heart racing. Another man had stepped into the train. He was tall and professional-looking in a sharp business suit, and had very fair features with white blond hair and light-coloured eyes. He held a book and briefcase in one hand and looked quite kindly for a man of his build.

The businessman sat across from Alfred, dropping his briefcase down by his feet, and propped open his book with one hand, the other resting casually in a pocket of his suit jacket.

Slowly, as the train began to move again, Alfred stood up and hobbled over to sit beside the businessman. He winced slightly as he lowered himself gingerly onto the cushioned seat.

“Are you alright, my boy?” the man asked, concerned.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m good!” Alfred thought he sounded a little hysterical.

He looked up at the businessman. This close to him, Alfred saw that the man had the most vivid pair of violet eyes and a kind effortless smile. Yet there was something about him that felt a little off.

“My name is Ivan, Ivan Braginski. And you are?”

Alfred blinked down at the large pale hand being offered to him, the one not buried in his pocket. He took it, grasping it tight as they shook.

“Alfred, Alfred Jones. Er, just a student. From New York.”

“Ah! And what brings you here to London, Alfred?”

Alfred was just settling into familiar territory, that of making new friends, when he felt _something_ judder up his spine which caused him to convulse. He blanched.

“Are you certain you are all right?” the man asked again.

“Yes!” Alfred gasped.

The jolt had settled to a low-level thrum against his prostate. It sounded quite loud in his ears, and he was paranoid that the man could hear it too. The thought of the man here – Ivan Braginski – catching on to his deep, dark, shameful secret made him sick with terror.

“I-I’m fine! Just a little, y’know…”

“Ah, I understand. London can be a little too much.”

The thrumming was not easing. On the contrary, it seemed to have increased in speed. As the train turned in a curve on the rails, he was jolted into a new position and he felt it _there_ , forcing from his lips a sharp, involuntary moan.

“You don’t look too well. Perhaps you should go home and rest.”

Alfred felt as if he was floating deep underwater, and the man – Ivan Braginski – was speaking to him from far, far away.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say, although he was not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. “Yeah, I’m just on my way back, back to the hotel. I’ll be f-fine. I think.”

The train was slowing to another stop. The buzzing in his ass was mercifully tapering off.

“Yes, you do that. Take care of yourself. _You have done very well, my sweet_.”

And just as the train eased into the platform, the man – Ivan Braginski – pressed the vibrator’s switch into his cold sweaty palm and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He got up and left, and was long gone by the time Alfred had recovered enough of himself to realise what had happened.


	2. All That I Have Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan corners Alfred in a train and molests him.

Ivan spied on Alfred from a measured distance. The latter was a lost puppy in a sea of sullen-looking commuters, glancing furtively about with a worried furrowed brow.

They were on a crowded Tube platform, and the air was muggy with hundreds of rain-drenched bodies steaming in the claustrophobically-packed space. The arrival of a train was signalled by a screeching roar and a blast of hot air, the wind whipping at the hems of coats and skirts as the crowd surged towards the track. Alfred allowed himself to be washed along with them. He was still looking around, his glasses fogging up, as the train slowed to a still, opened its doors, and poured another flood of people onto the platform.

_“Mind the gap. Mind the gap. Mind the gap.”_

Carefully, with all the practiced ease of a regular commuter, Ivan weaved his way through the crowd until he was standing right behind Alfred. “Keep moving, my sweet,” he said affectionately, ignoring the way Alfred jumped and stiffened all over, fear sliding across his face.

When they boarded, they found themselves pressed into a tight corner of the carriage. Ivan watched in mild amusement as Alfred, trapped in his little plastic nook, spun indecisively on the spot, trying to choose between facing Ivan or the wall. He kept his bright blue eyes averted, embarrassment flushing his cheeks pink. In the end, as the carriage doors hissed shut and the train lurched forward, he clutched at a handrail and stood with his back to Ivan.

Too late, he realised he had made the wrong choice as Ivan pressed up to his back, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as a hand slid down the side of his waist.

“No, you _promised_ me, you promise you wouldn’t–” he began in a high frantic whisper.

“And I intend to keep my promise,” Ivan cut in. It came out a little harsher than he had intended, and he was sorry to see Alfred flinch from him, his terror palpable as his knuckles whitened, gripping tightly to the handrail. He let out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Alfred said nothing. An uneasy silence hung over them as the train trundled on, Alfred looking to focus on something – _anything_ – that was not the feel of Ivan’s hand resting on his hip.

It was then that he glanced up to the Tube map and realised, with a jolt, that he had never taken this line before. Ivan must have purposely chosen an unfamiliar route for him, to keep him disorientated. It was taking them far from the usual tourist destinations, and he wished again that a better time had been picked for the meet up. He did not like being painted into a corner like this. He did not like being so close to him, so close he could smell the musk and the day’s labour on his person…

He stopped short, horrified at the direction his thoughts were straying into, and his eyes flitted to Ivan’s reflection in the window before quickly lowering to his rain-sodden feet.

To his dismay, his brain was choosing that very moment to recall their first meeting on that mortifying train ride. Would he ever forget it? It was enough to make him feel hot and cold all over, and he shuddered bodily, bowing his head low, hoping that Ivan would not notice, that he would not  _see_ …

“Hmm, what’s this?”

Alfred let out an involuntary yelp, which was mercifully drowned out by the sound of wheels squealing on the tracks. Ivan had cupped a hand to his crotch, and was massaging his arousal with slow cruel circles of his palm, his breath rolling heavily across Alfred’s red-flushed neck. Alfred scrabbled futilely at his hand, trying to get him to stop. Tears prickled his eyes as he fought to keep from making any more noise, terrified that somebody would be alerted to them.

“No, _please_ , l-let go,” he begged in a trembling voice, his eyes wide and staring at anywhere but Ivan. But he only seemed to have encouraged his tormentor who continued rubbing through the fabric of his jeans, roughly coaxing him into a full hard-on.

Alfred was now drawing breath in sharp rattling gulps, his eyes slipping close behind fogged up glasses. His expression was mirrored in the black window, and he made for an inviting spectacle the way his mouth slackened and fell open. Not satisfied with mere contact over his jeans fabric, Ivan glided his hand up along Alfred’s fly and caught his belt buckle, unclasping it in quick deliberate movements. Alfred clutched the handrail with palms that were slippery with sweat. He let out a hitched breath as his jeans were unzipped and pulled down his hips, his erection brought fully out and shaking with treacherous need.

Ivan’s breathing grew lustfully shallow as he wrapped his hand around Alfred, his nose pushing into Alfred’s rain-dampened hair. “You want this,” he murmured into the shell of his ear.

 _“Haah…!”_ was Alfred’s reply, exhaled in a half-moan as Ivan began to stroke. He bit down on his lip as Ivan stroked along his length, his mouth pressing soft nipping kisses to the nape of Alfred’s neck.

A part of him worried about the train pulling into a platform now; what would he do if the carriage emptied out and someone was to notice them? Another part of him could only focus on suppressing himself; he had his mouth clamped shut, but he was breathing rather noisily through his nose; he could only hope that the clattering carriages was louder than he was being.

And yet another part of him – a dark, shameful part – was eagerly responding under Ivan’s teasing ministrations. His body betrayed his desires the way it moulded to Ivan’s wandering hands, inviting for his tormentor to touch more of him. “You want this,” Ivan whispered again as Alfred’s lips quivered in a mixture of fright and gratification.

 _No I don’t_ , Alfred futilely thought as he began to climb his peak. _I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t…_

* * *

The train was racing through the open city with rain spitting down from a grey and oppressive sky. He was sitting in a cushioned seat, and in his hand he held a large padded envelope containing the photographs he had been blackmailed with.

_These are the only copies, including your memory stick. I’ve burnt everything else. Keep it safe._

He had stared, spent, shamefaced and weak-kneed, leaning against the plastic wall for support, as the man who had terrorised him for so long willingly relinquished his power over him. The envelope was heavy in his hand. He gripped tight to it. He could hardly believe what he was holding, but he found himself trusting Ivan’s words in spite of everything.

_You won’t see me again._

There was only gentleness in Ivan’s tone, but Alfred had felt an inexplicable stab of dread at that.

_This is goodbye, sweetness._

His lips still tingled from the light tender kiss Ivan had pressed to him, an act that was always at odds with everything else he did. Now he sat alone, cold and shivering in a quickly emptying carriage. He had missed his stop, but he could not bring himself to stand and leave.

As the train slowed around a curve in the tracks, he crushed the envelope in his hand. He dropped his face into the open palm of a free hand as hurt, anger and bitterness – and sheer bloody relief! – flooded him. His shoulders shook with dry, wracking sobs.

Overhead, the recorded voice of a woman smoothly announced, _“The next station is…”_


End file.
